The Way We Deal
by whitetiger91
Summary: It's 1979 and there's an outbreak of dragon pox. Two couples deal with the disease in very different ways, but in the end, they're both the same.


_**A/N: This story was written as an entry for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 9.**_

 _ **House: Gryffindor**_

 _ **Year: Head Girl**_

 _ **Category: Short**_

 _ **Prompt:**_ ** _7\. [Event] Outbreak of dragon pox_**

 _ **Word count: 2970 words (written on Google docs: there may be a word or two difference as I've edited when uploading, but 2970 is what is still showing up :))**_

 ** _Betas: Thank you to CK (Theoretical-Optimist) for beta'ing! Xx_**

 ** _Additional A/N:_** ** _This is an AU in that we don't know what Orion Black died from, just that it was in 1979. At his age, I can imagine he was also susceptible to the illness that killed James Potter's parents. This story is set after Regulus dies (or disappears in the minds of friends and family?—to be honest, I can't remember what they knew, but it's not important here anyway lol). I've also added some symptoms to the dragon pox, such as the coughs (going with the fact that it's based on Muggle chicken pox and apparently shares most symptoms), whilst keeping the regular symptoms described on the Potter wiki. If you're wondering why people, especially the Potters, are celebrating during a war, just think how the Weasleys had a wedding during the second—everyone needs a little cheer in the darkest of times. This also mentions Abraxas who died from the disease after Draco was born; he lives in this story (spoiler alert), but we all know what happens to him :s  
_**

 ** _I didn't notice before, but it seems I'm drawn to this new headcanon that Orion and Walburga were together when he died. I've shown that in a previous entry (and a million thanks to my judge for that round for reading them both), but this prompt seemed like the perfect prompt to explore it in a little more detail (and in a different light with dragon pox being the cause rather than other illnesses. I've always seen him and Walburga as very much like Marie and Frank Barone from 'Everybody Loves Raymond' (insulting but really loving each other), and wanted to explore more of Fleamont and Euphemia too. I almost went the way of the who vaccinate or anti-vaccinate arguments, but maybe another round ;)_**

 _ **I sincerely hope you enjoy this story, and thank you for taking the time to read it! Xx**_

* * *

 **The Way We Deal**

"Oh dear, not another one."

Fleamont's heart thudded against his chest as he looked up at his wife. Euphemia's pale blue eyes were sad as they scanned the newspaper, and he waited for her to read out the name of another innocent witch or wizard to have fallen victim to the war. He'd stopped reading _The Daily Prophet_ himself, unable to stand seeing the names of murdered comrades printed in black and white.

Euphemia must've sensed his fear, for she soon put the paper down and her eyes softened. "Sorry love, I didn't mean to worry you; there's no one we know today."

"I wasn't worried," he said, trying to hide a sigh of relief.

Her rosy lips lifted into a small smile. "Of course not," she said, but soon her smile faded. "It's not all good news, though. It appears that the outbreak of dragon pox has gotten much worse. Five cases have been reported this morning alone, with one poor little girl not taking to the medicine. They believe that there'll be many more cases this week, and fatalities too."

"Great, just what we need."

This time, Fleamont didn't hide his sigh, and he began fiddling with his half-eaten toast. It was bad enough that witches and wizards were dying left, right, and centre at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his so-called Death Eaters; an outbreak of a disease was the last thing anyone needed. With visits to St Mungos deemed unsafe for some families in hiding, getting sufficient medical care would be difficult.

"I'm sure it'll be nothing to worry about; we just have to be extra vigilant. On that note, maybe we should reconsider going to the party today..."

Fleamont dropped his toast and looked back up at her. "Not go to the party? _Not go to the party?_ Are you crazy?"

"Crazy enough to have married you? Yes." She rolled her eyes and stood up to collect their plates. "I'm just saying that perhaps we could wait until they get a handle on the dragon pox before we go off on adventures. We're not that young anymore, and I dread to think how we'll cope if we do get it."

"Speak for yourself, Mia. I've been told by my customers that I don't look a day over sixty," he said, running his hand through his hair. Although his hairline was receding and peppered with grey, he still insisted on using his SleakEazy's Hair Potion to maintain it.

It got him the reaction he needed, for Euphemia's lips once again tipped up into a small smile. "As vain as ever, I see."

He winked at her. "I have to look my best for this party," he said. When she groaned, he added, "Come on, James said he has a big announcement. You don't want to have to hear our only son's news from someone else, do you? We've promised him we'll be there..."

"We can see him when the danger is over…"

"There's always going to be danger, Mia. Go on, go get ready. I can promise you we'll have a grand time."

Euphemia shook her head. "You're impossible," she said, but she was still smiling.

* * *

"You're impossible."

"Mmm? Did you say something, dear?"

Walburga glared at her husband, whose eyes were glued to the newspaper. She was used to their silence at breakfast, but when she had something important to say, she expected him to listen to her.

"And deaf. I asked you what time Druella expects us to be there," she said, rolling her eyes.

Usually, she wouldn't have cared less about when his brother's wife, little miss perfect, expected them to arrive—Walburga would turn up in her own time _if_ she could be bothered being in their presence in the first place. Today, however, Druella was throwing a luncheon with some very important news, and she didn't want to be the last one to hear it.

"It starts at twelve," Orion said, turning a page of _The Daily Prophet_. "What a disgrace! Thank Merlin for the cause."

Walburga rolled her eyes. "I assume you're not talking to me?"

"What? Mmm, not quite. No, it seems that there's been an outbreak of dragon pox everywhere. The sooner this so-called Dark Lord and his followers get rid of the filth in our world, the better; I have no doubt that it's the Mudbloods spreading it around."

"Disgusting."

She shivered, imagining all the germs that kind of people spread to their kind. Throughout her time, she'd known many a witch and wizard to have contracted dragon pox, all from interaction with Mudbloods. Even Abraxas Malfoy had not been immune, the poor man having had to be around that Mudblood Minister, Nobby Leach. Thankfully, his pure blood had saved him from the fate many others had succumbed to, allowing him to continue his work.

Thoughts of Abraxas reminded her that she had more important things to worry about, and she scraped back her chair. "Come on, then, get ready. We're leaving at eleven."

* * *

"I know we left pretty late last night, but I can't seem to shake this tiredness," Euphemia said, walking into the living room with a tray of tea.

Fleamont stifled a yawn and stretched out on the sofa. "We only left at eleven."

"That's still late for us." His wife rolled her eyes, but as it'd been the night before, the smile was still present on her face. Her eyes danced as she added, "But I suppose it was worth it."

He grinned, feeling like celebrating all over again. He was going to be a grandfather! A grandfather! It'd been a miracle that they'd even been able to have a son, almost giving up hope all those years ago, but now they'd have the pleasure of another baby in the family.

"I hope Lily is careful. Poor girl; bringing a baby into the world should be such a joy. She'll have to contend with this dreadful war and outbreak on top of everything else."

"I'd be more worried about yourself. Are you alright, Mia?" Fleamont sat up, watching as his wife swayed a little.

Her hands shook as she sat the tray on the coffee table. Some of the tea sloshed over the cups as she did so, spilling onto the coffee table. Her cheeks were flushed as she moved to clean it up, and her hand flew to her head instead.

"Oh dear, I must've partied a little too hard last night," she said, chuckling lightly. "It's just a spot of dizziness from my headache, that's all."

"Let me do that," Fleamont said, taking out his wand as Euphemia tried to clean again. With a flick, the tea spill was gone. "Maybe you should lie down."

"I'll be fine," she protested, but she swayed a little on the spot. "On second thought, maybe I will."

He got up so that she could lay on the sofa. He hadn't noticed earlier, but her face seemed paler than usual, almost like it had a green tinge to it. He supposed he probably didn't look any better, remembering his overindulgence in liquor the night before upon hearing the news.

Euphemia didn't drink, though.

"Get some rest," he said, trying not to worry as he tugged a blanket over her.

* * *

"Can't I have some rest?"

Walburga stopped pacing and turned to her husband. "When are you not resting?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.

Orion had retired six years ago but still seemed to think he worked hard.

"It's impossible to rest living with you," he muttered.

"Pardon?"

"I said, what are you going on about this time?" he said, sitting up on the bed. "You may as well tell me now; my feet are keeping me awake anyway."

Walburga rolled her eyes. There was no point in telling him what had been plaguing her mind all day; even if he was listening, he'd probably roll his eyes and tell her to stop fussing.

How could she though? Druella had taken great pleasure in announcing that she was going to be a grandmother for the first time—even though the woman already had a filthy blood-traitor granddaughter. Druella knew that Walburga had no chance of being a grandmother, and had used the occasion to rub it in her face.

"That Druella… ooooooh…"

"We can't change the past, Walburga, even if we wanted to."

She blinked as she met Orion's gaze. If she wasn't mistaken, it seemed he not only had been listening to her but knew what was really bothering her.

"I miss him too," he said, his voice a little raspy.

He held her gaze for a moment before wincing and bringing his foot up to his chest, effectively ruining the moment. She hadn't noticed him take off his socks. If she'd seen the green and purple rash between his toes earlier, there probably wouldn't have been a moment in the first place.

"That's disgusting," she said, vowing to burn the sheets the first chance she got.

* * *

"Don't come in; I'm disgusting."

"You could never be disgusting, my dear Mia," Fleamont said, pushing open the bedroom door.

It had taken him a few hours to work out how to unlock the door. Euphemia had taken it upon herself to charm it every time he left, claiming that she was too ugly for him to see.

Even as he walked in now, she pulled the sheets over her face—or what was left of them anyway. It seemed that along with pockmarked, green skin and a purple rash on her feet, Euphemia was also prone to sneezing fire every now and then.

"Please, Flea, won't you just let me be?" she said, shuffling away from him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He placed a bowl of soup on the bedside table and gently tugged on the sheets. "Come now, you need to eat."

"I'll feed myself."

"Mia, it's okay. You don't have to hide—"

"Please, just go."

Fleamont sighed and got off the bed. He wished he could make it all better for her, but none of the potions the Healers had given her for the dragon pox seemed to be working as well as they should've. According to one Healer, Euphemia would probably always have a green tinge to her face. He didn't think green was such a bad colour, but telling her so didn't seem to make a difference.

No, telling her didn't, but maybe…

An idea popped into his head at that moment and a grin took over the frown he'd been wearing all week. It would either do the trick and make her feel better, or he'd also end up needing to lie in bed to recover from her wrath.

"I'll be right back," he said, sprinting from the room and into the bathroom.

It only took him a few minutes to organise himself, and when he returned, he was glad to see that she had not yet locked the door after him.

"Alright, Mia, time to put down those sheets. I have something to show you," he said.

He heard a muffled groan from underneath them. "Please, Flea… just leave."

"Not until you see this first."

He held his breath for a moment, not sure if she would look. Soon, however, Euphemia tugged the sheets down, enough so that he could see the pasty green bumps covering her. Tear tracks ran down her face, and not for the first time, his stomach swirled with guilt. He'd been the one to insist they go to the party; he should've been the one who was sick.

He should've been the one who was suffering.

"Ow," she said, wincing as she sat up. Her eyes widened as she looked at him. "What in Merlin's name have you done to yourself?"

Fleamont wiggled his eyebrows, causing a few blobs of the seaweed face mask to fall onto the bed. "What? Don't you think I'm still attractive?"

He watched with bated breath as Euphemia frowned. Just as he'd thought, he was doomed. He wasn't trying to mock her; he just wanted to show her that it didn't matter what she looked like. He'd always love her.

Thankfully, she soon rolled her eyes and shuffled over on the bed.

He grinned and sat down. "Now we can be sick together."

"Idiot; you'll get sick if you're in here too long," she said, but they both knew he'd never be able to keep away.

* * *

"Idiot; you're getting bile all over the new sheets."

Walburga watched as Orion leant over, great hacking coughs overcoming his body. When the worst of it appeared to be over, she pushed him back down against the pillow and dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a cloth. Kreacher had been looking after him for most of that week, but whether it was the wretched house-elves' lack of basic medical understanding or the lack of luck they seemed to have, Orion wasn't faring any better.

If anything, he continued to get worse.

"And now you're getting spit all over me," Walburga said, scrunching up her nose as more coughs came. She supposed it was at least better than the sparks that flew from his nose every time he sneezed. "Merlin, only a mother could love a face like that," she said, shaking her head at the ugly green bumps covering his skin.

Her husband took a moment to regain his breath. "Better than—better than y-your—your face," he wheezed.

Walburga huffed and pushed him back down again, a little harder this time. She placed a palm against his forehead, taking it back almost immediately as it burned her skin.

"Lie still."

"You're—you're the id—the idiot," he said, his voice soft. She held a glass of water to his lips so he could ease his throat. "You'll get dragon pox if you stay in here. Then I'll have to listen—to listen to you complain about h-how it's all my fault."

She sighed and looked down at her arm as she put the glass down. Her arm did feel a little itchy, but as she rolled up her sleeve to scratch it, there was no rash there.

"Idiot," she murmured again, this time to herself. Part of her had hoped that she did have dragon pox; if she did, she wouldn't be facing the prospect of life without Orion.

More hacking coughs interrupted her thoughts, and she sighed as she picked up the newspaper by the bed. "Quiet down. Do you want me to read this or not?"

* * *

"Do you want me to read to you?" Fleamont asked, holding up _The Daily Prophet._

"You don't have to," Euphemia said. "You should be rest—" she added, but a round of coughs stopped her.

Fleamont rubbed her back, trying to ease as much of it as he could. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the same hacking coughs affected him. It'd been no surprise that he'd finally caught dragon pox; he'd spent every day of the past fortnight with his wife. He'd even smiled when he'd found out, amused that Euphemia had thought he'd put on the seaweed mask again.

As Euphemia's coughs eased, he wiped a strand of grey hair from her face and opened the newspaper.

"Well, I suppose I do have some good news for you," he said, skipping over the endless list of war reports.

"Mmm?"

"It seems that they've put a halt to this dragon pox outbreak. No new cases have been reported, and extra potion supplies have been brought in from the States."

"That's nice. At least it won't affect our grandchild," Euphemia said. "We'll be able to visit them when we're better."

Turning back to her, he saw that her eyes were now closed. He kissed her forehead, watching as a small smile lit her face, and settled down in the bed. He reached for her hand and squeezed it before closing his own eyes.

"When we're better."

* * *

"When are you going to get better?" Walburga asked. "It's a real nuisance."

She held her breath as she waited for Orion to respond, not sure if he would. She didn't dare turn to look at him, sure that if she did, she wouldn't see his chest rising up and down.

It was a moment before he groaned, and she sighed in relief.

"You're still deaf, I see," she said, finally looking at him.

There was still sweat covering his forehead and a few strands of his silver hair were plastered to it. She didn't move them away, knowing that they'd soon be stuck there again anyway.

"And you're still here," he said, opening an eye.

She shifted in her chair, trying to make the hard surface more comfortable. He'd told her many a time to leave, but she'd stubbornly refused. It wasn't like she had anywhere to go anyway.

Orion closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Walburga held her own breath, again, as his faced screwed up in pain. She was unsure whether or not this would be the last time he would do so.

It didn't seem he was sure either.

When Orion reopened his eyes, he turned to her and held out his hand. "If you're going to stay, at least be useful."

She almost snorted and said, "What? Like you've been?" Not only had he gotten himself sick, but he'd also failed to give it to her. According to the papers, the dragon pox outbreak was now over, and she had a slim chance of contracting it.

She sighed and took his hand instead, allowing him to squeeze it as his body spasmed in pain. She continued holding it as he then relaxed and closed his eyes; she refused to let go and allow him to become another victim of dragon pox.


End file.
